Dark Night of the Soul
by CottageGhost
Summary: A blazing hearth on a cold night and a glass of Madeira with the Cottage ghost :


**_Dark Night of the Soul_**

He found her sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace in the master bedroom, staring pensively into the flames. Outside, the rain pelted the windows, driven by the wind. "Penny for your thoughts," he said softly.

She smiled slightly at his opening line and turned her head sufficiently to be able to look up at him. Her smile grew wider when she saw the two glasses he held. "Do you have one?"

"Only rusted sovereigns," he replied with a twinkle in his eye, bending slightly to hand her one of the glasses.

She snorted as she clinked her glass to his, then watched as he sat down cross-legged opposite her on the rug. Her face grew pensive again as she rested her eyes on his face, caught up in his bright blue gaze. "Why are you still in Gull Cottage?" she heard herself say.

The glass paused mid-way to his lips, a frown settling on his face. "Madam?" he asked, bewildered.

The brief glint of pain that flashed in his eyes jolted her, and she suddenly realized how insensitive her question must have sounded. "Oh, my God, I'm sorry!" she finally replied, eyes wide in shame, a hand reaching out toward him beseechingly. "I really didn't mean it the way it sounded! I – "

Taking pity on her, he relaxed back against the chair, smiling slightly in reassurance. He could plainly see she was mortified, so harboured no ill feelings toward her. But the question had rattled him, more than he cared to admit, to himself or to her.

He watched as her fingers played nervously with the glass, betraying her turmoil. He kept looking at her in silence, knowing she would make her thoughts known to him eventually. When she finally did look back up at him, he could see she was blushing. "I can't believe I said that," Carolyn said in a small, remorseful voice, averting her eyes quickly from his keen gaze, electing instead to focus on the Madeira's ruby depths.

The Captain considered her silently for a time, somewhat baffled by her mood. She had had something on her mind for most of the week, that was plain, but he had figured it was probably just a story point she was wrestling with, so had left it at that. Never had he imagined that it would spark this line of questioning! "What has you so preoccupied, Madam?" he asked softly, deciding to broach the subject. "You've been brooding about something all week. Tell me what's wrong."

She looked up to find his soft blue eyes on her, offering nothing but support and understanding. But how would he react to what was on her mind? Only one way to find out, she sighed inwardly. "Well, the anniversary of your death is coming up, and it got me thinking, so I – "

"Yes?"

"I decided to go look for your grave," she finished in a small voice, looking back into her glass, embarrassed.

"And you found it." A nod. "I see."

Carolyn lifted her eyes guiltily, feeling for all the world like a wayward child. But he didn't look angry to her; he seemed nonplussed, if she was any judge. She bit her lip. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

He shook his head bemusedly. "Why would I be? It's there for all to see."

She cocked her head at him. "I'm not so sure about that," she replied wryly. She had had to ask a number of people, including Claymore, who had all but run for the hills before she even finished asking. He had been studiously avoiding her since. It had taken all of her charm to get an old fisherman to tell her where the grave was located. She had finally found the spot, a small clearing a short distance away from the little church, virtually overrun by the surrounding shrubbery. There she had found the marker, a simple square of stone set into the ground, the inscription already beginning to fade. She had hunkered down, staring at the name, a feeling of dislocation coming over her. She was standing on the grave of a man she talked to, argued and laughed with everyday. Oh, rationally she knew only his physical body was resting beneath her feet. Yet – he seemed so very real to her, it was difficult for her mind to reconcile the two realities.

"And now that you've seen it?" the Captain asked softly, breaking into her thoughts.

Carolyn opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. The question she was burning to ask simply wouldn't take shape.

"Shall I tell you of my death?" the Captain asked gently, sensing her curiosity.

Carolyn stared at him mutely for a time, then nodded, her large green eyes intent on his face.

"Very well," he assented, settling himself more comfortably. He stared at the bottom of his empty glass, gathering his thoughts before beginning his tale. "It happened on a night very much like this one, except the wind was much worse. I was exhausted; I'd turned out the crew for the winter earlier that day. Oh, we might have been able to squeeze in another voyage before the end of the year, but we'd already had a very busy and profitable one, so I decided to give everyone a well-deserved early leave. After making all necessary berthing arrangements for the ship, I made my way back here, eager for a good night's rest." He smiled wryly. "Little did I know it was going to be such a long one."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, that storm had been brewing all day, and by the time I got home, the wind was already blowing hard. I came up here, thinking I would start a fire, do a little reading, then make for bed. But when I felt the draft coming out of the chimney, I quickly realized that wouldn't be possible. So I made sure the French doors were secured properly, then took the gas heater out with a view to turn it on long enough to warm up the room, then turn it off before going to sleep."

"But that's not the way things went," Carolyn said softly.

"No." He could practically see the images her writer's imagination was conjuring up: him, lowering his exhausted frame into his favourite chair; his head nodding off occasionally as he tried to concentrate on his reading; his long legs stretched out before him, relaxing in sleep, his left foot nudging the nozzle of the gas heater open; the book slipping from his lifeless fingers sometime later, the hiss of the heater covered by the gale's fury outside.

Carolyn just stared at him, wide-eyed, shaking her head as she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, horrified yet fascinated by his retelling of the last moments of his life.

Oblivious to all but his memories, he forged on. "When I came to, it was pitch black outside, and the wind hadn't died down one bit. I got up to go take a look when I remembered my book. I turned back to see where I'd left it. That's when I saw my body, sprawled in the chair, dead as a doornail." He chuckled. "If I hadn't already died, I'd probably have had a heart attack right there." He sobered. "I don't think I've ever felt so scared, in my life and since," he continued quietly. "I stumbled back, sick to my stomach, until I reached the French doors. As I turned to open them, I realized I was already on the balcony, facing the raging night. Feeling faint, I sat down on the railing – only to find myself on my back, on the front lawn, looking up at the spot I had occupied a few seconds earlier."

Carolyn couldn't help it; she snickered, as much from his retelling as from the definite twitch teasing the corners of his mouth. The self-deprecating tone he had used was entirely for her benefit, she suspected. Then again, she reflected, maybe it made the telling easier for him as well.

He quickly sobered. "By that time, the reality of the situation was becoming more and more inescapable. I couldn't think; I felt like my chest had closed up on my last breath. I had to get away. So, I somehow got my feet under me, and ran to the beach." His eyes darkened with remembered anguish. "Once I reached the edge of the water, I waded knee-deep into it, only to realize that I could no longer feel the sharp, cold edge of the November waves. That's when I knew: I was no longer among the living." He stopped, focussing his attention once more on the woman sitting close to him.

Carolyn let out a long, tremulous breath. The feeling of dislocation she had had earlier in the week as she stood on his grave returned full force: how could a man so vibrant not be alive? She shook her head, her mind simply incapable of wrapping itself around that one. "So, that's when you became a ghost," she said slowly.

He shook his head. "No, my dear. That's when I crossed over."

Her eyes widened. "So…you've been to Heaven?" she asked in a small, incredulous voice.

"Aye."

The air rushed out of her lungs. She didn't know how long she sat there, looking into those bottomless eyes of his, trying to come to terms with the enormity of his answer. "But then, why--"

"— am I haunting Gull Cottage?" he completed softly. He pursed his lips at her nod. "Because I'm a stubborn fool who can't leave well enough alone," he answered in an annoyed tone. At her confused look, he elaborated. "I did go to Heaven, Lord knows why. He of all people should know I'm no angel," he said with a self-deprecating half-smile. "Still, I went. Oh, Madam, if you could only see –" His eyes grew bright with joy, longing, sadness – so many emotions mixing and merging in the blue skies of his eyes that she couldn't tell them apart. He shook his head sadly. "I couldn't possibly begin to describe the beauty of it to you. Maybe you could, with your talent for words," he said with a low chuckle.

"Then why did you give it up?!?!" she cried, shaken by the depth of his longing.

He merely smiled at her, that gentle smile that warmed her through and through, without fail. "I had unfinished business," he answered quietly, gazing at her meaningfully.

"Oh, Daniel..." was all she could manage, her green eyes swimming.

He leaned toward her then, looking into her very soul. "Heaven, my dearest love, is where you find it." Then, gracing her with a smile, he disappeared.

Carolyn stared for a time at the empty space he had just vacated, then turned back to the flames, her lips stretched out in a brilliant smile.


End file.
